


Our Love Left Us Long Ago

by Fionakevin073



Series: The Story of Us [2]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionakevin073/pseuds/Fionakevin073
Summary: AU One-shot after 6x10 after Tara catches Jax cheating. Is a sequel to 'I don't have a choice, but I'd still choose you'.





	Our Love Left Us Long Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is the second part of the Story of Us series, I may or may not post a third part but I'm not quite sure yet. I hope you all enjoy. Thanks! Please review. :)

_I’m aching and you’re aching with these dull and empty hearts,_

_We’re waiting for somebody to rip our ribs apart,_

_And to seize with a steady hand our dull and empty hearts,_

_Our hearts._

_—Bloodstains by Passenger_

 

**_i._ **

 

It’s strange that she’s not even surprised. 

 

She stands there in the doorway, her mouth agape as she watches some blonde whore ride her husband, and all she feels is surprise that _she_ was not surprised. _Once a cheater, always a cheater, isn’t that what every woman says?_

 

Her bag slips from her grasp and onto the ground as she looks between the two of them, both of them so lost in their fucking that they don’t even notice her. _Cause when I’m inside someone, there is only one face I see._

 

The memory makes bitterness swell up inside her and it’s then that she notices Jax’s gaze flickering over to her, watches his eyes widen with shock and all she feels is _nothing and anger and bitterness and everything and nothing at the same fucking time and this is all your fucking fault Tara— or is it his and fuck everyone—_

 

She bends over to pick up her bag, looks Jax right in the eye and utters loud enough for him to hear, “You disgust me.” She slides off her wedding ring so quickly it’s as though it burned her and chucks it in his direction, before turning to walk out the door but not before stopping in her tracks as a thought occurs to her. 

 

_I’m not gonna need that anymore._

 

She reaches into her bag and grabs her phone and flips it open turning around to face the couple, quickly snapping a picture as the proof she needed before walking out the door. 

 

She walks out of the house calmly and collectively, her face a painted mask revealing none of the thoughts behind her eyes. It’s as though nothing happened; as though she didn’t just find her husband screwing another woman and it’s when she reaches the bottom stair that the rage slams into her at full force, making her stumble forward as her heartbeat rings in her ears. 

 

_Damn it Tara get out get out get out—_

 

She hears his footsteps pound on the upstairs floor and she surges forward, pushing past a few whores on her way out the door. Tara speeds up her steps as she reaches deep down in her bag for her car keys as she stumbles down the drive way and—

 

“Tara!” he yells after her and she moves faster— _c’mon Tara you’re almost there, almost there—_ he reaches for her shoulder and grabs it, the force making her turn around to face him. His hair is disheveled, and his clothing wrinkled and the bruise along the side of his face is still prominent but all she can see is him and the whore and—

 

“Get your hands off of me,” she commands emotionlessly, her voice as hard as stone. He does as she says as they stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. 

 

“I. . .” he begins, swallowing, “I—“

 

“Save it, Jackson,” she interrupts, raising a hand to stop him and— and she begins to laugh. It’s bitter and broken and crazed but here she is laughing in front of her husband as tears begin to pierce her eyes and she laughs and laughs at the expression of disbelief on his face. 

 

“Look at what you did to me,” she manages to wheeze out in between laughter, a tear sliding down her cheek, “What in the hell did I let you do to me?” The laughter dies down after she says that, and she stares at him emotionlessly, her green eyes wide. 

 

“Thank you, Jackson,” she tells him bitterly, “Thank you for making this _so_ much easier.” She glances down at her hands, the dead one and the live one and her insides clench as she notices the engagement ring still sitting there, gleaming up at her, mocking her. _Whatever happens Tara I want you to be my wife, I always have._

 

She gulps loudly and slips it off her finger and throws it at his chest, watching as it falls onto the gravel beneath them. 

 

“You should hope it fits her,” she mutters tonelessly and turns on her heel to walk to her car, and doesn’t spare him a second glance as she drives off. 

 

**_ii._ **

_I’m taking and you’re taking we’ve forgotten how to give,_

_I’m faking it, you’re breaking it and its just the way it is,_

_So we’ll leave here tonight but not before we give each other back our hearts._

 

**_iii._ **

She drives for about an hour before stopping on the side of an empty road. Her chest is empty and her eyes are void of tears but somehow she still feels so incredibly small, so useless— so hopeless. And so incredibly stupid. 

 

Tara remembers the eagerness in which Juice wrote down the address to where Jax was staying, the smirk on his face as he watched her leave. He _knew_ what she was going to see, and he knew because it had happened before—with the same woman. The thought makes her stomach thrum with rage, but in a sick, twisted way, it lifts a weight off her shoulders. Her marriage was ruined long before she did anything— long before she faked a miscarriage, and what happened today just proved it. 

 

Her eyes begin to burn as she thinks about it, and before she can stop herself a choked sob escapes her throat as she begins to— 

 

 _“Stop it,”_ she snaps at herself, swiping at her eyes, “Don’t you do that— don’t you fucking dare.” 

 

It takes a few more minutes before the tears begin to die down, and she takes three deep breaths before thinking about what the hell she does next. Her mind flips through every possible option she has; 1) She could take the deal the DA offered her and enter Witness Protection. 2) She could go to jail and leave her boys helpless to this cycle, never to see them again for ten years. 3) She could divorce Jax now, and fight to get her kids the hell away from him, Charming, SAMCRO and all the shit that comes with it. 

 

Before, she didn’t want to hurt Jax. Before, the mere thought of divorcing him pained her so much it brought tears to her eyes. 

 

Now, she really doesn’t give a fuck what he thinks. 

 

Tara reaches deep into her bag for her phone, and her skin grows cold as her hand brushes against the cold metal of the gun she’s kept in her purse the past few days. She pulls it out of her bag and onto her lap, and stares at it, feeling so incredibly cold and empty. 

 

 _What happened to me?_ she wondered helplessly, before shoving it back in her bag and getting her phone, and flipped it open as she scrolled through her call list before reaching the contact she was searching for. 

 

She presses the phone to her ear as she listens to the number dial. 

 

“Hey Mitch?” she asks when her new lawyer answers the phone, “Just out of curiosity, if I happened to have evidence of my soon-to-be-ex-husband screwing a prostitute would that help prove that he is unfit to have custody of our kids?” 

 

There is a moment of silence before he answers, “Tara, why don’t you meet me for coffee at the cafe place on Baker Street?”

 

“Fine,” she agreed quickly, “In how long?”

 

“I’m on my way right now,” he told her his voice oddly soothing. 

 

“Alright,” she answered, and hung up the phone before starting her car and tossing her phone back in her bag. 

 

It doesn’t matter what option she chooses; she will always chose her boys over anything and anyone. 

 

Parent trumps spouse any day. 

 

**_iv._ **

 

It’s dark outside when she parks her car outside the cafe, but she pays no attention to it. Jax won’t let her see the boys, and she resists the urge to cringe when she thinks of calling Gemma to say goodnight to them. It makes her insides bristle, the thought that she can’t even see her boys due to Jax’s orders. 

 

Focusing on the anger makes it easier to deal with. 

 

Mitch is already sitting there when she stalks inside the cafe, the bell ringing above her head as the door closes behind her. She makes her way over to him, and sits across from him, watching as he glances up from the paperwork in front of him to stare at her. 

 

“Tara,” he greets, his grey eyes meeting her green ones, “You sounded. . .shaky on the phone, are you alright?”

 

It takes her a moment to respond as she stares at him, taking him in. If she hadn’t returned to Charming—hadn’t returned to Jax, Mitch would be the kind of guy she would have ended up with. With his handsome features that make him look a great deal older than her, and this aura of collectiveness and cool-headedness that is strangely soothing. 

 

“I’m fine,” she says faintly, and quickly orders a coffee when the waitress saunters up to their table, a bored expression painted on her face as she chews on a piece of gum. 

 

Mitch waits until she leaves before he tries to talk once more, “Tara. . . about the question you asked me earlier,” he halts his sentence for a moment, a look of difficulty appearing on his face as he tries to figure out how to word his question, “How did you _obtain_ this piece of evidence?”

 

Tara let out a dark chuckle at his question and stared across the cafe at the poster of the rolling stones they had hanging up. 

 

“I walked in on him screwing this blonde prostitute called Colette. She may be a madam or something instead. I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice breaking. She let out a deep breath and continued, “I wanted to talk to him and asked Juice— a member of the club— where he was. He sent me there.” She let out another amused sigh and added, “Quite happily I might add. I must have really pissed Juice off.”

 

She stares down at her hands on the table, unable to look him in the eye. 

 

“Tara did you. . . did you hurt this madam in any way?” Mitch asked her softly, taking a sip of his coffee. 

 

“No,” Tara answered immediately, lifting her gaze to meet his, “No I didn’t. I just took the damn picture and ran out.” There was a pause before she added lightly, “And I threw my wedding ring at Jax but I don’t think that counts as assault does it?”

 

Mitch let out a small laugh at her jab before all laughter left his face shortly after, and a serious look appeared on his face. 

 

“Listen Tara,” he said, glancing down at the paper work, “These are the divorce papers that were handed over to me from your old lawyer. I understand that you are seeking full custody, and from what I read from the notes you gave your old lawyer understandably so. I promise to fight as hard as I can to make that happen— and to get rid of these charges in Pamela Torric’s case— but I am going to need full disclosure. I heard about your miscarriage, and I heard about the restraining order against Gemma Teller-Morrow but I know that you were never pregnant. And if the decision about who gets full custody of the boys goes up to a judge, this will come back and bite us in the ass.”

 

Tara frowned at him as the waitress came and gave Tara her coffee, and moved away before she could even utter a thank you. 

 

“The picture I took today,” Tara began, taking a sip of her coffee and ignoring how the hot liquid burned her throat, “That proves that Jax is hanging around prostitutes and is _using_ their services. In terms of character judgement in court, this should surely diminish him shouldn’t it?”

 

Mitch sighed before responding, “Again, the miscarriage—“

 

“Would provide them with the perfect opportunity to send me to jail for falsifying medical documentation and taking the boys far, far away from me,” Tara cuts him off, her frown deepening. 

 

Mitch must have sensed her desperation because he quickly added, “This helps in terms of the divorce proceedings Tara. It does.” There is a moment of hesitation before he quietly continues, “You should show the picture to me, or send it to me for safekeeping.”

 

A bitter laugh escaped her lips at his words and she shook her head as she reached for her phone. ”Sorry,” she tells him, scrolling through her pictures, “I just never thought I would ever be sending a picture of my husband screwing another woman to my lawyer for safekeeping.”

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said gently, his grey eyes boring into her green ones, the silver orbs gently and compassionate. She sent the picture to him quickly before snapping her phone shut, sipping on her coffee. 

 

“I can’t be around him,” she said, her voice heavy, “I—I have to get my children as far away from the club as I possibly can— I can’t— I don’t—“

 

“Tara I need you to breathe,” Mitch told her, grasping onto her hands tightly, “Just breathe, take a few deep breaths and you will feel all better.” She closed her eyes and did as he said, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. 

 

“Listen,” Mitch continued, “I’m going to give you the divorce papers. Feel free to sign them whenever you want— I have multiple copies back at my office. We can sit down with Jax and his lawyer to discuss the splitting of your assets after the both of you sign the papers—“

 

“Shouldn’t we do that before?” Tara asked quietly. 

 

“Typically yes,” Mitch sighed, “But your trial is our main priority right now, Tara.” 

 

Tara watched as he handed her the papers, and slipped them into her purse before slipping a ten dollar bill onto the table. “I’m going to go find a place to stay for the time being. I’ll drive by my house and see whether or not Jax is home— thank you Mitch, for everything.” She stood from her seat and slung her bag onto her shoulder, “I really appreciate it.” 

 

She turned on her heel when he called out, “Tara wait.”

 

She stopped and looked back at him, an inquisitive expression appearing on her face. “What is it?” she questioned, watching as his neck turned red. 

 

“I— I have an extra room at my place if you really need a place to stay, Tara,” he told her, shifting in his chair uncomfortably, “I didn’t mean to make you feel—“

 

“Thank you Mitch,” she interrupted, her voice soft, “I mean that.” And then, just because she could, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, before quickly shuffling out the door. _Get it together Knowles,_ she told herself, and hurried into her car. 

 

**_v._ **

 

There is no car or bike in the driveway when she drives in front of her house, but there is still multiple lights on in the house. _Neeta,_ she realises and parks her car in the driveway and practically runs to the front door of her house and barges inside, her heart pounding in her chest. 

 

“Abel?” She calls out, “Neeta?” She through her bag onto the couch, and her heart lifted up as she heard small feet running out to the living room, “Mommy!” Abel squealed, making her smile. 

 

“Hi honey,” she coo’s, scooping him up into her arms for a big hug. Her heart melts in her chest as she hugs him, and for the second time that day tears prick at her eyes as she thinks about the hell they are about to go through. 

 

“I love you Abel,” she whispers into his neck, picking him up. 

 

“I love you too, Mommy,” he replies, laughter in his voice. 

 

 _Soon it’ll be just us three,_ she thinks sadly— hopefully— _I hope so, Abel. Mommy loves you. So much._

 

After Neeta leaves she hears the door open and glances up to see Rat saunter into her kitchen and sit down, watching her play with Abel quietly. 

 

“C’mon Abel,” she says, standing up and offering him her hand, “Let’s get you ready for bed.” 

 

He follows her without question and swings their hands together as they walk to his bedroom. After he changes and brushes his teeth, she walks him to his bedroom and tucks him into bed, a smile small forming on her face as she watches him snuggle into his pillow. 

 

“Mommy when is Daddy coming home?” he asks sleepily, just as she reaches to turn off the lamp. The question makes her pause and her insides tense but she answers warily, “Soon, Abel, he should be back real soon.” The lump in her throat has never been more evident as she turns off the light and places a kiss onto his head, “Sleep tight, honey.” 

 

She may have failed at having a relationship with her husband but she will not fail in relationship as a mom. She won’t. Her boys need her. They come first. 

 

They will always come first. 

 

She shakes her head when she closes the door and goes into Thomas room, and sets herself on the couch in his room. The couch is too small for her to sleep on, and with a heavy sigh she stands to go to her bedroom— _their_ bedroom, but the thought of going in there alone makes her want to vomit. She picks up Thomas from his crib and carries him close to her chest, eager not to wake him. She made her way to Abel’s room and gently shook his shoulder. “Abel,” she whispered, shaking him again, “Come and sleep with me tonight, honey.”

 

“Okay Mommy,” he said groggily, grabbing a hold of his teddy bear. 

 

“Shh,” she whispered, leading him to her bedroom, “we need to be quiet so your brother doesn’t wake up.” Abel nodded his agreement and rubbed at his eyes, linking his hand in hers. They walked by Rat silently, and Tara did not even spare him a second glance as they walked by. 

 

When the three of them were finally tucked into her bed, Tara lay there, looking up at the ceiling, her brain buzzing. _My brain never stops,_ she had told him once, and the words echoed in her ears now, haunting her. _Why am I here? Should I stay here? Am I afraid to go—afraid to stay, afraid to be a mother?_

 

That was so long ago— it felt as though it had been a century rather than a few years. They were both such different people back then— she fought _so hard_ to prove to Jax that she loved him. That she could handle this life with the club, and be his old lady. But he had been right all along. This life— she couldn’t live it. This life couldn’t be _it_ for her boys. 

 

Tara would give Jax that much. 

 

If it hadn’t been for Thomas and Abel, Tara should have left him a long time ago. 

 

“Mommy?” Abel whispered beside her, nuzzling his head into her neck, “What about when Daddy comes home?”

 

Tara’s heart felt like a lump of rocks in her chest as she swallowed thickly, her eyes growing glassy. “I don’t think Daddy’s coming home tonight Abel,” she murmured back, lulling him back to sleep, and tried to ignore the sound of her heart shattering in her chest. 

 

**_vi._ **

_I’m taking and you’re taking we’ve forgotten how to give,_

_I’m faking it, you’re breaking it and its just the way it is,_

_So we’ll leave here tonight but not before we give each other back our hearts._

 

**_vii._ **

 

She wakes up the next morning to her boy’s fast asleep in her arms, and she relaxes back into the bed, the immediate terror slowly lessening. Tara always woke up like that nowadays; fear in her throat and her heart pounding in her chest as _my boys have been killed_ runs through her brain. It used to take her minutes for her to calm down. When Jax was inside for fourteen months, the dreams had been relentless. They had stopped when he got out, but ever since she was released they had come back with a relentless fury. 

 

She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake them. Her heart melted as she looked at her boys sleeping forms, before she quietly padded out of the room, her sock clad feet minimising any noise. She slid into the kitchen, and looked into the living room to see Rat sleeping on the couch, his mouth open in mid-snore. The sight makes her mouth twitch as she starts to boil some water for coffee, and she moves into the living room and shakes his shoulder to wake him up. 

 

“Wouldn’t want the person you’re supposed to be watching to run away whilst you sleep,” she murmurs at his startled look, and calls back over her shoulder as she walks back into the kitchen, “Coffee?”

 

“Uh, yes please,” Rat answered, his voice still sounding groggy, “uh—thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” she muttered under her breath and made them the coffee. She sipped on the steaming liquid and leaned against the counter, caught in her own thoughts. 

 

“Did Jackson come back home?” She questioned suddenly, her gaze snapping to a startled looking Rat. There was a moment of hesitation before he answered, “No he—“

 

“Thank you,” she interrupted, lifting a hand to stop him. _Probably wanted to finish screwing his whore without interruption._ The thought stung slightly, deep, deep, down, but Tara brushed the hurt away and finished the remainder of her coffee in silence. 

 

“I’m going to go take the boys to daycare after this,” she told Rat, putting her cup in the sink and filling it with water, “If you need to report that to whomever then I suggest you do it now.” There was a moment of silence before his voice filled the silent room, “Jax said that he didn’t want the boy’s in daycare anymore.”

 

Tara stilled from where she stood with her back to him, before slowly turning around, an incredulous expression appearing on her face as she stared at him. “Excuse me?” she challenged, her eyebrows rising, “When did you reach this decision?” 

 

Rat gulped before answering, “Jax sent me a message last night, told me to let you know.”

 

Tara scoffed loudly and shook her head in disbelief at her soon-to-be ex-husband’s cowardice. 

 

“Yeah okay,” she said dismissively, stalking past him before calling out over her shoulder, “You can let Jax know that if he wants to make decisions like that about _our_ children without my input, he can pick up the fucking phone and call to tell me himself.”

 

“Tara—Mrs Teller—“

 

“It’s Doctor Knowles,” she snapped, whirling around to stare at him furiously. He raised his hands defensively before lowering them under her glare. 

 

“You can’t take them to daycare,” he told her seriously, his voice deepening. 

 

“Oh and what are you going to do to stop me?” Tara asked, arching an eyebrow, “You gonna kill me, Rat? Are you gonna pull a gun on me?” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before she let out a small bitter laugh, “Or do you think that I’m gonna—“

 

“Mommy!” Abel squealed, running into the kitchen holding his teddy bear, “Thomas is awake!”

 

With one last disdainful look aimed in Rat’s direction, she crouched down to her son’s level and exclaimed, “Then let’s go get him shall we?” 

 

Tara’s on her way out of the house when her phone begins to ring. With a careful eye on Abel getting into the car, she snaps it open without checking to see who it was. 

 

“Hello?” She asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Goosebumps slowly appear all over her skin as she realised who the person on the other end of the call was. Annoyance began to build in her stomach as she remembered the incidence with Rat this morning, and she clutched her phone so tightly that she feared it would snap in half. 

 

She stood there silently, waiting for him to say something— _anything._ When he didn’t, she snapped her phone shut and put it in her bag, suddenly feeling lightheaded and nauseous as she leaned against her car door. Tara stood there, looking off into the distance before she was snapped back to reality at the sound of Abel talking to her through the car. 

 

“Sorry baby,” she murmured, sliding into the driver’s seat, “Mommy just got slightly distracted, that’s all.” 

 

**_viii._ **

 

After Tara drops Abel and Thomas at daycare she returns to her office and waits for something. Anything. Tara stares at the empty office— the same office in which her mother-in-law threatened her yesterday; the same office in which she broke down— and all she feels is this emptiness that threatens to consume her. In that moment, the world is her boys. Nothing else—no one else. 

 

Her boys are the only thing that matter to her anymore. 

 

And so she sits there and stares at the bare walls that were once covered with her accomplishments and suddenly—

 

Her phone rings, and the sound snaps her out of her reverie. 

 

“Hello?” she says into the receiver, and her voice sounds shaky to her own ears. 

 

“Hey Tara, can we have a meeting today?” Mitch asks her. 

 

“Uh sure,” she agreed quickly, swiping at her eyes, “I’m at St.Thomas already do you want to meet here?” 

 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you soon.” 

 

Mitch arrives around twenty minutes after the phone call, and Tara nearly jumps out of her chair when the door leading to her office springs open. She felt as though the walls were closing in on her and her ability to breathe began to lessen as she almost began to claw at her throat. 

 

“Tara,” Mitch greets, coming over to sit on the chair across from her. 

 

“Mitch,” she replies, and even she can detect the small hint of relief in her voice. She sends him a small smile at the questioning look on his face and elaborates, “Being in this room is kinda suffocating. I was getting kind of stir-crazy.” 

 

Mitch sends her a small smile before his expression turns serious once more, and Tara finds her mood sobering with his. “I’ve managed to get a meeting with the Judge set at your trial, new evidence— information, I should say— has appeared that may help get the whole case dismissed—“ 

 

“Dismissed?” Tara gasped, her heart rising in her chest as her back straightened  immediately, “You mean— you could get rid of the charges?” Her voice was breathless, as though she had just ran 10 miles. His grey eyes were hesitant as they looked at her, and maintained a cool, collected aura as he waited for her to calm down. “It’s not a guarantee,” he said, not unkindly, “As a matter fact it’s less than likely that it’ll be enough but it is worth a shot. I can’t disclose what the information is unfortunately, at the request of the prosecution and the judge.” 

 

Tara still couldn’t process it. The pathway to her brain and her body was disconnected; she was numb from the shock, from the reality of what this possibility could mean. She was trying— and failing— to maintain a less hopeful demeanor but for the life of her she couldn’t. Gradually, she managed to find her voice and calmly asked, “Will we be able to have a meeting before the—“ her voice broke as she raised a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her racing heart. 

 

“I have a conference I need to attend to in the next town over this weekend and the rest of the week is busy for me—“ 

 

“I need to get out of town for a day,” Tara blurted out, her eyes wide. Mitch watches her patiently, waiting for her to finish. “Me visiting the town over won’t violate my parole and there’s a lake there and this small festival that the boys can go to and my god it completely left my mind because of everything, I was thinking of taking the boys before—“ 

 

“Tara,” Mitch’s voice calms her, and silences her rambling, “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll be travelling there late Friday but the conference doesn’t start until,” he pauses as he racks his brain for the information, “Twelve on Saturday but we have an hour break starting at three in the afternoon. if we’re talking about the same lake, it’s very close to the conference hall.” 

 

“Okay,” she breathed out, a small smile gracing her features, “Okay.” 

 

**ix.**

 

Her relief is short-lived however, because the moment Mitch leaves the room she gets a call from Gemma, screaming about how Bobby has been shot. Tara may hate her, but she does not hate Bobby, despite his affiliation with the club, and so she quickly hurries to the address Gemma had told her, some stolen medical supplies in her handbag. 

 

She enters the hanger with a shadow hung over her, and can practically smell the dead bodies before she see’s them. She winces at the sight of the bloody bodies in the room, but quickly hides her discomfort when members of the club emerge from another room with Clay at their heels. Tara catches Jax’s eye for a moment and the hurt she had refused to feel threatened to emerge. She looked away quickly, determined to keep her cool. 

 

It takes about two hours and one gunshot later to arrive at the cabin with a bleeding Bobby. Gemma is gone to pick up the kids from daycare on Jax’s orders. 

“I forgive you.” 

 

Tara freezes at his words, and turns to face him slowly, an inquisitive expression painted on her features as she stares at him. That damned mask is still drawn over his face, and so Tara can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his eyes have softened as they stare right back at her. 

 

Her insides feel fragile at his words, and she doesn’t quite know how to react and so she stares at him silently, before the expression vanishes from her face as her expression turns blank. Something stirs within her at his words, and she realises that this is the first time that the two of them have been _alone_ together, ever since he first left the house. _Before somebody get’s hurt._ That’s what he had told her; she remembered that as clear as day. He had threatened her whilst she held their child in her arms. 

 

_Either we can say Mommy moved away, or Mommy passed away._

 

The memory makes her shoulder’s stiffen and her jaw tighten and the emotion stirring within her begins to spread like some kind of disease. Seeping into every pore and bone in her body. 

 

“I forgive you for what you did, Tara. You didn’t have to help Bobby today but you did anyway, and I thank you for it,” he tells her, without any emotion laced in his voice, as though he had practiced this speech in his head for hours. 

 

And the rage within her builds as she stares at him, still too shell-shocked to say anything as she waits for him to finish. Jax doesn’t say anything as they stare at each other, and before she know’s it he’s turning his back to her and walking to the door. 

 

 _That’s it,_ she thinks incredulously, raising a hand to her lips, _that’s all he has to say—_

 

“Is that it?” she asks him spitefully, with rage pounding in her veins and thunder in her heart, “Is that why you think I helped Bobby? To show how _worthy_ I am of your forgiveness now Jax? Is that it? Huh? Do I have to show how worthy I am of your forgiveness Jax? Or maybe I have to prove how worthy I am of _all_ of your _sacrifices_ Jax?”. Her voice began to rise with emotion as she took another step towards him, and in that moment she didn’t give a _fuck_ about the other’s in the cabin— who could hear everything she was saying— and let everything out. 

 

“Do I get to talk to old ladies at club parties for you— trade recipes for you—plan dinner’s for you—live in this cage _for you_ and not _breathe_ for you?” Her eyes sprung with frustrated tears as she glared at him, her chest burning with emotion as she spat out her anger and hatred at him. “Tell me Jax— what _must_ I do to prove that I am _forever_ indebted to you for forgiving me for trying to protect our sons! Huh? Be your _old lady_? Your _housewife?_ Your _property?_ “ 

 

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she glowered at him, before the furious expression on her face delved into one of painful desperation. “You stand there and you _think_ of everything that I have ever told you— of everything that I have sacrificed for you and _done_ for you and how you have repaid me and you—“ Her voice broke off with emotion but she managed to swallow down her emotions before telling him in an  accusing tone, “And you tell _me_ who should be forgiving who.” 

 

They stare at each other in shocked silence for a few moments, and this time it is Tara who get’s it together first. 

 

“I’m going home,” she tells him hurriedly, brushing past him on her way out the door, “I don’t want to stay here anymore.” She hurries out of the cabin and ignores the awkward and startled looks on all of their faces as she leaves, and she hates herself for losing her calm but what’s done is done. 

 

He doesn’t come after her. 

 

**x.**

 

_Cause our love,_

_Left us long ago,_

_When we were both asleep,_

_Leaving blood stains in the snow,_

_Leaving blood stains in the snow._

_I’m waiting and you’re waiting but this trains not gonna come,_

_You’re voice has started grating and I hate what we’ve become,_

_See there’s no future at this station we’re just feeding off the crumbs,_

_of our hearts._

 

**xi.**

 

The weekend can not seem to come fast enough. 

 

She wakes at the crack of dawn, unable to sleep and begins to pack the bags frantically. She packs sunscreen, hats, kites, a sand building kit. She makes sandwiches and packs waters and juices and as she welcomes this trivial distraction. She appreciates the normality of her task and savours the way the weight on her shoulders lightens and nearly disappears. She feels brighter—better, the argument with Jax vanishing from her mind. 

 

The trip is a surprise to the boys and a surprise to Jax— she scowls as she remembers Rat sleeping in his car outside the house, keeping watch on her, but she tries not to let it ruin her mood. She wakes the boys up and they’re in the car by 10 and on their way. She’s almost shaking with excitement and relief. 

 

The day is good.

 

They spend it swimming and flying kites and eating and giggling and laughing. 

 

They are happy. 

 

Tara can forget everything when they are like this. 

 

She meets Mitch like they had planned, and they talk over her case. It’s not enough to bring her down from her high. 

 

After, when they’re packing up to leave, Mitch looks at her and smiles. 

 

“What?” she asks. 

 

“You seem happy,” he answers. 

 

“I am.” 

 

Later, when the sun has begun to set, Tara pulls Abel into her arms and whispers, “Are you happy Abel?” “Yes, Mama!” he says, causing her to kiss his cheek. 

 

She doesn’t think of Jax. 

 

**xii.**

 

There are two moments that define her life: 

 

i. 

 

The first is Mitch’s call at 8 in the morning and his voice is loud and exuberant as he practically yells, “Tara they dropped the charges! You have been acquitted by the Judge due to corruption in DA—“ 

 

She drops the phone in her shock and she laughs harder than she has in years. 

 

ii. 

 

Jax is silent when she slides the papers over to him, already signed. 

 

“I loved you,” she tells him, “I love you. I always will. But I don’t want to be with you anymore.” 

 

“Tara—“ 

 

“Please,” she insists, tears sparkling in her green orbs. “ _Please.”_

 

“I still want to be with you,” he tells her softly, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable, “We still have a chance, babe. Please.” 

 

“No, we don’t,” she replies gently, “Our love left us long ago.” 

 

She wonders, after he leaves, how it will end. 

 

(Later than afternoon, Gemma gets arrested and Jax turns himself in)

 

**Xiii.**

 

In the end, it goes like this: 

 

Tara visits Jax in prison and the sight of him in the orange jumpsuit makes her want to weep. Her throat is raw and her eyes are wet as she stares at him and before she can blink they are hugging each other tightly. She can feel his heart against her chest and in that moment she is sure that he can feel hers. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unable to contain herself. And she is. 

 

Sorry that it came to this. 

 

“Don’t be,” he tells her roughly, pulling back so he can cup her face tenderly. They stand there, the past, the future between them, hanging heavy and its as she stares into his blue eyes that she remembers why she sacrificed so much for him. They disentangle at some point and find themselves sitting across from each other, the only sound being their breath. 

 

“I signed the divorce papers,” he said eventually. 

 

Tara’s breath hitches in her throat but she remains silent, waiting for him to finish. 

 

“I have twenty five years in this place Tara, with no possibility of parole until I serve twelve. Take the boys from here, don’t visit—“ 

 

“Jax—“ 

 

“Be happy,” he insists, cutting her off. 

 

Tara stares at him, not knowing what to say. 

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, reaching over the table to grab a hold of his hand and presses a tender kiss to it. “Thank you.” 

 

They kiss each other goodbye and Tara feels her eyes begin to water. 

 

She had pictured many endings, but not like this. 

 

— 

_Well I’m lonely like you’re lonely,_

_But its only cos its thrown me,_

_Like its thrown you I don’t own you,_

_And my darling you don’t own me,_

_And its kicking and its yelling,_

_And its bruising and its swelling,_

_But the writings on the wall,_

_And we both know what its been telling us to do,_

_Telling us to do._

 

They move to Chicago. 

 

She watches Abel look around in wonder—showing no signs of fear of this sudden new world. There is no Gemma or SAMCRO and for the first time in years she smiles, relief bringing tears to her eyes. 

 

She calls old friends and mentors and colleagues and attends rehabilitation for her hand and finally manages to get a job at a clinic that’s only 15 minutes away from Abel’s preschool and 5 minutes away from Thomas’s daycare. 

 

Their house is small but there is something about it that feels like home. 

 

And it’s a good life. 

 

Her boy’s grow older and join boy scouts, baseball, basketball. They make friends with the boys who live next door, and Tara loses count of the times that she’s spent afternoons hearing her boys laughter and conversations. She begins to lose count of the number of balls they’ve had to replace, and the number of times she’s had to go buy more chips or cookies for a sleepover. 

 

She makes friends with her colleagues at work and joins the book club with the mom’s in her neighbourhood and she’s happy— she is. 

 

She doesn’t date. 

 

She pretends she doesn’t notice the rare flirtatious smile and the way some men father’s in Abel’s class look at her hands for a wedding ring. She can’t imagine being with anybody else. She doesn’t want to. 

 

Until— 

 

She’s standing in a Starbucks five years later during her lunch hour, trying to fish out her wallet when— 

 

“Tara.” 

 

The voice is familiar, British, a voice she had never expected to hear again after she had broken his heart several years prior. 

 

She smiles, faint and small, before turning around to meet his brown orbs. 

 

“Charlie.” 

 

—

 

They get married two years later. 

 

She becomes a mother to his four year old daughter called Grace (he was recently divorced like her and the mother had left him when Grace was two) and he becomes Step-father to Abel and Thomas, who welcome him with open arms and charming smiles and with a kindness only her boys are capable of. 

 

He teaches Thomas how to ride a bike and Abel how to play tennis. Tara teaches Grace how to braid her hair and how to punch properly. 

 

For Abel’s 11th birthday, they drive to Disneyland and spend the weekend there. 

 

For Christmas, they go on holiday to England. Charlie kisses her when they reach the top of the Eye of London and Thomas wrinkles his nose at them with the rest of his siblings.

 

Tara finds out she’s pregnant when they have been married for two years. 

 

The pregnancy is hard and long and difficult but in the end it’s worth it. 

 

They call their daughter Jessa. 

 

And it’s good. 

 

Tara loves Charlie with every fibre of her being and with a gentleness that calms her, makes her steady. The boys stop asking about Jax. They call Charlie Dad when they’ve been married for two years and it brings tears to his eyes. 

 

The only time that Tara ever thinks about Jax is when she mails him annual pictures of Thomas and Abel. She never puts a return address on the letter. 

 

She never includes a picture of her. 

 

(She never gets one back) 

 

And so fifteen years after Tara and Jax divorced, Tara is sitting on the swing on her front porch, reading a book. The house is quiet. Grace and Jessa  were taking a nap, Abel is off to University to study Social Science and Thomas is at a friends house. She feels calm, peaceful. Charlie comes to sit next to her and she sets her book aside and leans her head against his shoulder. 

 

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead, “I never stopped.” 

 

They had spent much of the two years before they got married talking and healing their broken wounds— Tara explained to Charlie why she chose Jax and how their relationship fell apart so badly she could hardly recognise him anymore. She told him of how she faked her pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage and when she couldn’t look him in the eyes after telling him he hugged her. He told her of how the woman he married— Grace’s biological mother was a one night stand that this parents made him marry. He told her of how he had been so angry with her for breaking his heart, for choosing Jax, how heartbroken he had been. In response she had cupped his face in her hands and stared into his eyes before kissing him. 

 

“I don’t regret it,” she says softly, “Any of it.” 

 

Her anger has long since disappeared. Her hatred has turned to love. The life she once led has now turned into a vague memory. What had once been a life of danger, lust, tear-filled nights and burning passion had long since been replaced by safety, friendship, tenderness, compassion and a pair of open arms that always welcomed her home. 

 

Jessa clambers onto her lap an hour later, when she has woken up. Tara responds by tickling her playfully, their laughter matching the warm pleasantness of the afternoon. Grace takes a picture of them with her phone before shrieking when Charlie starts to tickle her in response. 

 

She is so absorbed by her family—her life, her home, that she doesn’t notice it. 

 

There is a car parked a few houses down. It’s black, modest, a little worn out, the window is rolled down. The man behind the wheel is handsome. Wickedly so. Agelessly so. His blue eyes are hooks for the soul. He takes in the happy family, feels bitterness swell in his chest. He smiles eventually, when his bitterness is replaced by affection. He is glad that she is happy. 

 

The family goes back into the house eventually. 

 

This is the future we could have had, he thought, that I wanted so desperately once. 

 

His smile turns sad, lonely and before it can overwhelm him and make him do something drastic he rolls the window up and drives away. 

 

(His heart breaks as he casts a glance towards the mountain of pictures in the passenger seat, of blonde boys with blue eyes) 

 

—

_Well I’m crying and your crying in to silent salty lakes,_

_The road has turned to ice and we haven’t any brakes,_

_So while the wall keeps getting closer,_

_I fear its too late not to break our hearts._

 

_End._


End file.
